


After

by yuma (yuma_writes)



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s01e12 Captain Jack Harkness, Gen, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Protectiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-05-01 01:25:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5186927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuma_writes/pseuds/yuma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not the things you do that make you a hero, but sometimes it's the things you don't. Tag to season 1's Captain Jack Harkness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning:** While this is gen in all intent, this fic does mentions the events in "Captain Jack Harkness". I'm not going to ignore it. It happened, it's canon. Those screaming indignantly, learn to live with it. LOL.

_"…they left battered and I could hear Erasmus cheering five o'clock to me. It was truly a miracle we'd all survived but now back in the infirmary, I have to wonder if George hadn't hesitated, would our Captain have survived as well…"_

Toshiko's finger hovered over her mouse clicker. She blinked rapidly; her eyes were dry from trying too long to discern words out of worn, faded, inked handwriting that blended with aged paper. Scanned pages and pages of yellowing documents, preserved in London's World War II archives, flickered coolly on her LCD monitor. 

History on ink; these were breadcrumbs from where they'd been. Words from the past trailed behind them as they reentered the Rift and came home.

Tosh had calculated then there was a seventy-three percent chance her actions could affect history. It stayed her instincts and she simply followed Jack's lead. 

Of course, their actions might have just splintered the timeline to another parallel or simply merged and rippled across their timeline—

The computer expert sighed. Perhaps _this_ was the true reason why Jack warned against opening the Rift.

A quiet strain of music, sounding old, sultry and dated, escaped out to the central area of the Hub. Jack had found an antique phonograph somewhere and was playing an old band's recording. It reminded her of the music from the Ritz. She wouldn't be surprised if it was. Jack had been playing it since yesterday, holed up in his office since they'd returned. It sounded sad.

Tosh knew whom the captain was thinking about and something inside her ached. She remembered the shattered look Jack pushed down as soon as they reached the front door. Tosh remembered his hand, large and steady on the small of her back. It reassured her as he guided them out of the past through the Rift to home. It also reassured her that he was coming back with her. There was a brief second when it looked like he wouldn't.

But as soon as they could feel the tingling sharp pricks of the Rift leave them and lush mahogany pillars faded and peppered once again with cheap, modern flyers, Jack's hand dropped. Tosh whipped her head around to look over her shoulder and saw Jack just standing there. They could hear the band still playing like a sailors' siren call. He stood, turned slightly towards the grand stairway. There was a devastated look of abandonment that Tosh had seen only once before: on poor Owen when he returned from the airstrip to report Diane Holmes had left. 

Jack's name had escaped before she could stop herself and the longing on Jack's face _slipped_. His shoulders straightened and his body trembled just a little as he pulled in everything she witnessed. Then, his eyes still on the staircase, Jack asked in a raspy voice for the greatcoat she still held clutched to her body.

Tosh sniffled as she copied the webpage into an encrypted folder to read at home. It hurt to hear Jack like that. But it hurt more to watch him shrug into his greatcoat like an old man, his eyes deliberately at the front door. She pretended not to see him wipe his eyes with the heel of his hand before he slammed his hands down on the door handles with unnecessary violence. When they burst out into their present, she heard Jack exhale like he had been holding his breath for a long time. 

That was yesterday and they toasted the real Captain Harkness with a brandy. Jack's smile was brittle when Tosh asked what she should call him now and he said "the same". Just as well. She'd known him as Jack for the past few years. Even meeting the 1940's version, she couldn't imagine her captain to be anything else but "Jack Harkness". He swept in and rescued her out of UNIT with the flair and confidence of a pilot. The name and its legacy somehow fitted even more despite that she knew a sliver of truth now.

That night when they returned, Tosh went to London to catch the trailing ends of the party. She wanted to see her family and her little brother even if it meant being scolded for showing up late. She surprised and delighted her grandfather with a haltering foxtrot and kissed his leathery cheek happy birthday. Back in her flat, she dreamt of foxtrots and young faces with scared old eyes. When she woke up this morning, she realized she couldn't ignore the twist in her gut: she wanted to know what had happened to that nice young boy who treated her hand. He'd asked if Toshiko would write to him. She felt bad when she told him she couldn't; she didn't know where she'd be. (Or _when_ she'd be, for that matter).

 _It's ridiculous_ , Tosh told herself when she came to work early today (not early enough though because she could hear Jack's phonograph already playing when she arrived). The past was the past. Finding out what had happened to young Tim wouldn't do anything. 

Her computer beckoned the moment she sat down and switched on the monitor. No new rift activity—although Jack warned it was only a matter of time—to distract her. Tosh was left with no excuses to hack into London's historical archives and typed "133rd" into the search string.

Finding young Tim, the squadron's navigator, was easy enough. He was a hobby historian; most of the artifacts and documents came from his own personal mementos his grandson had inherited. 

Tosh smiled to herself as she watched a small video of Chancellor Bloom talking fondly about "Poppy Tim" who lived to a rich age of eighty-two. Somehow, it made it better to know he survived the war, married the nurse who took care of him and gave Britain three pioneer doctors and two forward thinking politicians. She was still smiling while she perused the archives. She chuckled when she came across the photo of a weathered poster of the "Kiss the Boys Goodbye Ball" which Tim had apparently kept folded and tucked inside his cap. 

But then she came across the diaries and her smile faded.

_"…have to wonder if George hadn't hesitated, would our Captain have survived as well…"_

She vaguely remembered George: young, brash, and with a bit of the macho bravado common during the time of war. Did he see Jack when they…Her hand flew up to her mouth and she breathed in sharply. Automatically, her eyes drifted over to the shut door. Strains escaped the office of a liquid husky voice singing about waving goodbye on an airstrip. She sounded almost sinister.

Toshiko gave the office an anxious glance before she cross-referenced what she could find, tracing every scrap of journal written by the 133rd squadron. 

_"…still smell the bitter sting of gunfire all around me. The bastards had shot up my left wing so I could only watch helplessly as our Captain flew his plane right into their formation and scattered the Messerschmitts like the blasted rodents they were. I couldn't fly towards him when I spied one plane lingering, trailing behind him. George was the closest yet he didn't fire for a full minute. I think he was scared. We all were. This was supposed to be training. We weren't supposed to be engaging the enemy. They weren't supposed to be here…"_

Tosh was worried about her seventy-three percent. She was careful to be sure that the timeline stayed the same. The real Captain Harkness, according to their Jack, died the very next day. He died a hero. They both thought they left the timeline unmolested.

_"…hand hurt after I hit him. George just stared at the sky while Robert grabbed his shirt and slammed him against his plane. I think George was in shock like the rest of us. Robert was screaming and I think he was crying as well. Many of us were. "Bloody bastard! Did you do this because of yesterday?"_

Her eyes burned. She remembered how Jack's voice broke when he said there was nothing he could do for the doomed American. 

_"…and then he was gone. But I know what I saw: our Captain was holding that American bloke as they danced. Adam said the bombing had left me bonkers, but I saw our Captain lead that man to the floor. They…I can't even say it out loud. I couldn't believe my eyes. Our Captain! A per(scratched out). No. Surely, I was mistaken. It looked like they were going to kiss but a bright white light obscured them and that Harper fellow was gone with his Asian companion. Everyone thought it must have been a German bomb that fell so close, it flooded the ballroom with light despite the curtains. I just don't know. I asked the Captain what he was doing. The bloke looked like he'd just fought off a formation of Hitler's best single-handedly. He would only tell me I must have been imagining things and I should focus on our last day of OTU tomorrow._

_But I have to wonder…"_

George apparently went on to become their next Captain. She stared hard at the newspaper clipping of him, looking war weary and older than his age, shaking hands with the Prime Minister after the war. He saved forty men during his entire career. They called him a hero. Then he had a son. He named him Jack. 

There was a clipping attached to it. Tosh clicked on the link. Her eyes widened in surprise when she recognized themselves, Captain Harkness and that odd, slight man Bilis, who everyone said was not as he appeared. 

"Was that the man you met in the past?" 

Tosh blinked and looked over her shoulder. Ianto stood behind her, impeccably dressed as usual with a dark red tie and waistcoat, balancing a serving tray. To her surprise, he set down a coffee for her and her usual buttered biscuit.

There was an initial instinct to shut her monitor from prying eyes. She felt like she'd seen something back there no one else did. She wondered if Jack regretted that. 

Tosh averted her gaze and grabbed the biscuit. 

"You're here early," she commented instead around a nibble of biscuit. Mm. Strawberry, her favorite.

"So are you," Ianto countered. "It seems we've all been putting in extra hours here since the Rift was opened."

It was then she noticed the cold plate of stale sandwiches on the tray. She could have sworn she saw Ianto bring it into Jack's office last night before she left. Her brow furrowed and she looked up.

Ianto shook his head at the silent question. "Just coffee," he said low, looking perturbed. His lips pursed as his gaze drifted to the monitor again. "Is that why?"

Tosh flushed as she nodded. "He died. The very next day." Her mouth crinkled. "He seemed to be an honorable man. Jack said he died saving all his men." She paused, wondering if she'd said too much.

Ianto's sharp eyes read George's entry quickly, and he filled in what the soldier wouldn't say. "Ah." Blue eyes darkened and drifted to his right.

The music still played but now the slow, shuffling pace of heavy footsteps accompanied it.

Tosh stared at her screen. She wished she'd never started her research. "He didn't know," she whispered. Tosh wasn't sure which Jack she was referring to. The screen blurred and she blinked rapidly. "It was goodbye." But at what cost? "He was going to die." He _did_ die. Did history really change?

"Still, he'll blame himself." Ianto's sober statement sent shivers down Tosh's spine. 

Tosh swallowed, nodding. 

"Has he researched this yet?"

Tosh shook her head. "He doesn't really do research, Ianto. That's what we're here for." She shared a rueful grin with the other. Their smiles faded when the phonograph stuttered to a stop. The muted footsteps inside paused, the floor creaked, and then the turntable started up again. 

Ianto looked down at his tray. He studied the untouched sandwiches, his lips pressed thin. He raised his gaze to her computer. 

Tosh bit her lower lip, her hand stretched out to her keyboard. A bit of doubt intruded and she hesitated and pulled her hand back.

"I could put a block up on this IP. It'll divert him away to an 'Error 404' if he does do a search." Tosh blinked, realizing she might have gone too technical. But a quick glance behind her only revealed a thoughtful Ianto instead.

"I will pretend to understand that." Ianto looked down to his tray, back to Jack's door again. He nodded to himself. 

Tosh copied the gesture. She turned back towards her computer, her fingers already striking the necessary keystrokes. She smiled tightly as windows appeared on her desktop, code flashing as she blocked every link she could think of. Then, a thought occurred to her and she twisted around again.

"You know, he'd like those lemon curd pastries if you bought any," Tosh grinned when the unflappable Ianto Jones smiled back.

"Our Captain does appear to have a sweet tooth for Beasley's pastries," Ianto agreed. 

"Why don't you go get him a plate of that?" Tosh suggested as she watched the progress bar. "Nothing needs to be done here. I can do this myself." 

"You sure?" Ianto offered. "It might be better if I was the one doing it. Just in case."

There were times Tosh wanted to hug Ianto. He reminded her of her little brother, wise in his own sweet, understated way. Although, she giggled to herself, hugging Ianto might shock him. Plus, he might wrinkle.

"Tosh?"

The computer expert swallowed the laugh that wanted to break out. "Unless you can program a redirect Trojan onto his DNS server…" She trailed off, looking up at him expectantly.

Ianto, as usual, didn't blink. "Ah," he just said sheepishly. "I believe I shall make the coffee."

"Maybe make his decaf?" Tosh suggested, her gaze flickering over to the door then back.

"Only if it meant he wouldn't lock me up with our local Weevil resident," Ianto retorted in a dry voice, but his eyes twinkled. 

This time Tosh did laugh when Ianto left.

Sixty percent written, her computer chirped. Tosh propped her head up with her hand and stared at her computer, silently pleading with it to go faster. Her elbow nearly slipped off the desk when a raspy voice filled the Hub.

"I'm not signing off any more overtime."

Tosh recovered, straightened in her seat, and spun around in her chair.

"Oh, Jack," she blurted out when she saw him. She couldn't help herself.

Normally a careful dresser despite the odd period clothing, Jack today looked…rumpled. It was the only way to describe him and the smudges under normally bright, cheerful blue eyes. They looked dull, colorless like the rest of his face.

Tosh regretted her outburst because soon after, Jack's face shuttered. He looked cool, too cool, as he pretended to straighten up his greatcoat, buttoning it all the way up to his throat. He wore it like a suit of armor.

The expressionless face dared her to say anything more, but Tosh knew she couldn't. The phonograph might have been silenced but she could still hear the melancholy melody in her head. 

"No new major rift activity," Tosh reported, swiveling back around to her station. "Some sort of bursts that have the Weevil signature though."

"Where are Gwen and Owen?" Jack looked around as if just realizing they were alone.

"It's not even eight yet, Jack." Tosh felt a twinge in her chest when Jack looked at his wristband bewildered.

"Okay, you're _definitely_ early then." Jack wagged a finger at her, but the smile never reached his eyes.

Tosh scoffed. "And so are you."

"No, this isn't early for me. Is it, Ianto?" Jack directed the question to the returning young man.

"Only if you had left, sir," Ianto replied crisply, his expression bland when Jack grumbled.

"Smart ass," Jack dropped heavily into Owen's chair. The furniture squeaked and groaned. He blinked blearily at Ianto and the coffee mug waving in front of him. When he reached for it, Ianto deftly switched it with a bone white ceramic plate. Jack scowled at the sunny yellow dappled danishes.

"This is not coffee," Jack announced after giving them a suspicious sniff and setting them on his lap. He looked at them warily like they were tiny Weevils.

"Breakfast," Tosh pointed out and made a show of biting into her own biscuit. She daintily licked the flaky crumbs off her thumb. 

Jack's shadowed eyes narrowed. "Breakfast?"

"Beasley's," Ianto clarified, handing him a napkin.

Tosh shared a small smile with Ianto when Jack brightened a little and gave them a poke with his pointer finger. She was glad to see him, out of the corner of his eye, take a tentative bite. It was a start at least.

"Where are you going?" Tosh realized Jack was dressed for outdoors.

"You said there was Weevil activity," Jack reminded her as he squared back his shoulders, turning his head left and right. His neck cracked loudly. Jack winced. "I could use the exercise." 

"Alone?" Damn, she should have thought of another excuse. Tosh shot Ianto a panicked look.

Annoyance crossed Jack's features. "What? It wouldn't be the first time."

"I was about to make coffee, sir," Ianto cut in before Tosh could answer. "Your uh…special brew."

Tosh grimaced. The only thing special about Jack's brew was that he was the only one who could drink it. Owen claimed it was an ulcer inducer. Tosh tended to agree. 

Jack exhaled, his brow furrowing. "Keep it warm for me."

"It'll just be a few minutes." Tosh nodded towards the breakfast plate Jack was ignoring. "Why don't you wait for it?"

"The coffee works better on a full stomach," Ianto added, swooping Jack's mug out of reach before it could be grabbed. He escaped for the tiny kitchen area. "I'll refresh your cup, sir."

Tosh bit her lower lip, trying not to laugh when Jack clucked under his breath in Ianto's wake. 

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

_Bugger._

An ill-timed chime from her computer announced the Trojan had finished writing and was executing. Tosh turned around frantically. Stupid. She should have turned off her speakers.

"Working on something?" She felt Jack's approach like the air pressure changing with a storm.

"No." But her computer beeped again and when she clicked it to shut it up, the faded pictures from London's archives came back up. Damn. "Yes," she confessed, defeated. "I—" She looked up and caught a look off the reflection of her flat screen. Longing, despair, regret. There was no one emotion she could tie it to and again, she cursed her stupidity. 

"Tim, wasn't it?"

Jack had a sad, tired twist of the mouth, too small to be called a smile. He nodded towards her screen and Tosh dared a look. "He was that boy who fixed your hand."

Tosh wished she hadn't changed out of the bandage. Owen had stitched it up and taped it nice and neat. Tim's gauze was tossed and she had a ridiculous regret that she didn't save a piece. 

"I was wondering if he'd survived," Tosh explained, avoiding looking at Jack by staring at the faded news clipping on the screen.

"Did he?" Jack's voice warmed with curiosity.

Tosh met his gaze in the monitor's reflection. "Five sons, two daughters. His grandson's Chancellor Bloom."

Jack chuckled under his breath. "Way to go, Tim." He stared at the monitor, looking a little wistful. 

"That's us, isn't it?" Jack paused. "I guess I should say _was_."

Tosh reluctantly clicked the window behind the clipping, revealing the antique photo.

"Huh," Jack just said. Then, as an afterthought, he added, "I look fat in that photo. The camera does add ten pounds."

It invited a laugh, as Toshiko suspected that was what Jack was looking for. But she caught the weary, sad look in the reflection. Jack looked careworn and fragile and Tosh found she would rather cry than laugh. 

Jack tore his gaze away and dropped heavily onto their couch under the inset Torchwood sign. He hunched down, blinking heavy-lidded at his boots stretched out in front of him.

"He saved a lot of people, Jack." The silence was too painful to let it remain. 

"Could have saved a lot more if he could be saved," Jack muttered.

"You don't know that," Toshiko pointed out. "You tell us constantly we can't tamper with the past."

Jack commented only with a soft grunt.

"Tim's children contributed to Britain, George later saved dozens of men during the war. And who knows what accomplishments those people made?" She grimaced when her computer beeped again. Completed. She spared a look towards Jack who frowned mildly at her monitor.

"You'd better not be downloading porn," he warned with a crooked little smirk. Tosh sputtered, swatted the air towards him, and he laughed. It wasn't his usual deep timbered one, but it sounded lighter and less painful to hear. He waved his hands in surrender and slouched back down on the couch.

"How long does it take to make coffee anyway?" Jack muttered. He gave Tosh a speculative look.

"Was there anything else?" Jack asked casually but she wasn't fooled.

Tosh took a deep breath, clicked "Okay" on her system and watched every related link vanish, rejected from their servers. "No," she said simply.

Jack nodded absently, deep in thought. His eyes fluttered once, then twice. 

"He may have saved the world," she added in a soft voice.

Tosh was heartened to see Jack nod sleepily with a minute curved mouth. 

"He was a hero," Jack agreed, a little pride in his voice. He looked small, sitting on the couch, hunched in his greatcoat. Eventually, his eyes drifted shut and his head dipped to his chest.

 _Yes, Captain Harkness was a hero_ , Tosh thought, smiling at their captain. She winked at Ianto tiptoeing back up sans coffee. She turned back to her computer, humming low under her breath of angels dancing at the Ritz.

_Still is._

**Author's Note:**

>  **Author's Notes:** To myfieldnotes and penfoldx for tossing me into the fandom of Torchwood then pulling up the ladder so I couldn't climb out. LOL.


End file.
